


Snippets From A Friendship

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, John is a Saint, Male-Female Friendship, Molly is a Good Friend, POV Molly Hooper, Poor John, Pre-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5879326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the start, Molly liked John. She thought he was a good man. And as his friendship with Sherlock grew, his friendship with her grew as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snippets From A Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NSquared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSquared/gifts).



> So _ages_ ago **Nsquared** gave me a prompt for a gen Molly  & John fic (" _How about a Jolly brotp fic where they just bond over not Sherlock things?_ ) that i was in the mood to write today. It's not an entirely happy fic, but i like it anyway, and i hope you do as well.

She was honestly surprise that John was still there. That John was actually making ground with Sherlock, making changes in his personality. It was extraordinary. She was quite impressed, to be honest. She’d known Sherlock for years now and never made a dent in changing how he treated anyone. It made her wonder how he did it, how he managed it. How he kept his sanity.

So she wasn’t altogether surprised when one evening towards the end of her shift the door to her office opened and she looked up, seeing John standing there like he was at the end of his rope. She’d seen so many people who had their mutual acquaintance cross her path with that look. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m almost done with my paperwork, but…want to grab a pint and a bite and talk?”

He nodded. “Fine. So long as the topic is _anything_ but Sherlock Holmes.”

“Deal.”

**\---**

She had to admit, it had been nice to get to know him a bit more. Not that she didn’t know him before, just that she didn’t know him _well_ But she learned a lot that night. She learned about the music he loved and the books he adored, the films he could watch over and over and the television shows that had him all caught up in their tales. Turned out they had quite a bit in common. She’d been rather surprised by that.

She’d suggested they make this a regular thing, a way for him to have a way to vent, if he so needed. She knew Sherlock barely noticed her; he wouldn’t sabotage a standing night of pints with her the way he had the dates that John tried to go on. And it would keep their friendship healthy, or as healthy as it could be. She had some thoughts on whether it actually _was_ healthy but she kept them to herself. Right now they both needed it and it did more good than harm.

And with that, Tuesdays at Ye Olde Mitre was a thing with them. Their time to bond and relax and, for a little while, forget that Sherlock Holmes even existed.

**\---**

“You don’t get it, though. The whole point is there are secrets in every town. That’s why all those shows do so well,” she said as she took a sip of her pint.

He shook his head. “You see enough death at the job, and yet you’re a diehard Midsomer Murder fan,” he said in an amused tone.

“ _And_ Inspector Lewis, _and_ Murder In Suburbia and if we’re getting really nitpicky, loads and loads of others,” she said.

“But _why_?” he asked.

“I suppose there’s a comfort in the bad guy always getting caught,” she said with a shrug. “Doesn’t always happen in real life. I’ve been a part of too many unsolved cases for my liking.”

He had another sip of his pint. “If you could do anything else, anything at all, what would you do?” he asked.

She tilted her head slightly. “Interior designer,” she said after a moment.

“Yeah, your home is rather nice,” he said with a grin. “I think you’d do well.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Writing?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I could be a true crime novelist.”

“You’d be the best,” she said with a smile. 

“Don’t you know it.”

**\---**

“So, interested in anyone?”

He shook his head as he picked at his chips. “No. Not much chance of that, with…everything,” he said. “You?”

“Nope,” she said. “I mean, there’s someone, kind of. Maybe. He _might_ be interested.”

“Oh?” he asked, grinning. “What’s his name?”

“Jim. We went out on a date last night. I don’t know…it _could_ be something.” She gave him a small smile as she picked up her beer and took a sip. “But, I mean, he’s…nice. He’s really nice.”

“You could use nice,” he said with a nod.

“Yes. Yes I could,” she replied. “In fact, I should.”

“You absolutely should,” he agreed.

“I think I’ll ask _him_ out this time,” she said, reaching for her mobile.

John gave her a grin. “Go get him.”

**\---**

“So there’s a party at Baker Street. Christmas Eve.”

“Oh! Umm…do I need to bring anything?” she asked.

“No, not at all. There will be food and drinks and whatnot. I mean, if you have gifts, bring those. It’s supposed to be fun.” He picked up his drink. “I’m bringing Jeanette.” 

She smiled at that. “So how is that working out?”

“Not bad, not bad. She hasn’t gone screaming into the hills yet.”

“Good. You deserve the chance to be happy,” she said, her smile faltering only a little.

He looked over at her, placing a hand on her arm. “You know, you should dress up. A real knock ‘em dead dress. I mean…it couldn’t hurt.”

“No, I suppose not.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “What time does it start?”

“Six.”

“I might get there late, but I’ll be there. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

**\---**

“It’s been a long time since I’d been that scared, Molly.”

She ignored her pint and reached over onto the counter, putting her hand over his. “But it was all a hallucination. A drug induced hallucination,” she said.

“I know that, but it just felt so _real_ ,” he said. She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad it’s all over with and we’re back here. I don’t think I ever want to go back to the moors again.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said.

“What happened while we were gone?” he asked.

“Not much,” she replied. “Helped Sally with a case. You would have enjoyed it. It would have given Sherlock a run for his money. I think she and I make a good team.”

“Yeah?” he said with a grin. “Tell me more about it.”

“Well, there was a body that came in where the victim was suffocated but not smothered…”

**\---**

She wasn’t sure if he’d show up. She wasn’t sure what to say if he did. As far as he was concerned, his best friend was dead and gone, buried in a grave with a soured public reputation remaining as his legacy. She knew that wasn’t true, but there wasn’t anything she could say to that.

She waited fifteen minutes, then thirty, then forty-five. It was almost an hour after he should have been there when she got a text on her mobile. _Couldn’t leave the house. Sorry._

Well, fine then. If _he_ wouldn’t come to _her_ , then _she_ would go to _him_.

She got in a cab and had it take her to his new flat. He’d just moved out; she knew why, of course. Too many memories, all of them tainted. She understood. She wasn’t sure what would happen with Sherlock’s things but she was ready to take them if needed, since John couldn’t bear to. She’d have to wait and see. It didn’t take long, and when she got to his door she knocked. "John? It’s me. Molly.”

It took a moment, but then the door opened. Oh, she hated to see him this way, this shell of a man. Her dear friend looked so broken. She instinctively reached forward and hugged him, and after a moment he embraced her back. It was then that she decided no matter what, no matter how hard it was, she would do her best to bring him back from the depths, before the world lost him for good. 

After all, that was what a good friend did.


End file.
